smokebombsandmirrors:

Kaito stood where he was left. Hands still lifted, mouth slightly parted, and his body burning. He let his hands fall and slid down the brick behind him. Crouched in a small ball he held his knees. He whole body seemed to flush in embarrassment at his actions. He didn’t want it to stop and when the detective jerked back it stung.

He had never seen recoil from some one after he kissed them before and Hakuba looked like he was ready to flee in spades. The apology was new and that hurt worse it just made everything out to be a mistake. He lifted his he to the sky and watched the grey clouds. This was a mistake. He definitely should have punch his lights out and dumped him in the dumpster, Burberry and all.

The scarf felt like a noose now as it hung around his neck.  Hesitantly he lowered his nose to it. Hakuba scent filled him and he could almost feel those lips against his again. That achy need came back.

He leaped up. Horrified at the realization that he wanted Hakuba and bad. Snatching up all of the bags, even the ones Hakuba had left when he fled back to the classroom.

I don’t like him. I do not like him. I DON’T LIKE HIM. I REALLY DON’T LIKE HIM! 

“I DON’T LIKE HIM!” He shouted.

He practically tore the door off the track when he got back. Shoving the bags into whoever was closest he went back to his desk and buried his head into his arms and ignored the scent surrounding him like gentle arms.

December 24th, Last Year (“You’re the Worst, Charlie Brown Saguru Hakuba”)

“You kissed this boy, then ran off. What about the school supplies?”

“Ah, I… left them with him. I feel awful about it, but I had to leave. How could I face him after that?”

Jones drank his coffee. It was bitter, just like his career. “I don’t know. Leaving him without any explanation seems, you know, not really fruit basket worthy.”

“I don’t need a fruit basket, Jones.”

“I know you don’t, Saguru. But what do you want me to do? I have photos of you kissing someone in an alleyway." 

Hakuba puffed out a breath, rolling onto his side and into one of the legs of the piano. Ow. It was difficult to maneuver in a full suit on the carpet. "Does anything really need to be done? The paparazzi already believes that I have half a dozen girlfriends, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t, do you?”

“Well, no. I don’t have anyone.”

“So you want to do nothing.”

“I don’t want to bother Kuroba-kun about it.” Hakuba untangled himself from the piano and crawled out from under it, dragging himself to his feet. “It’s only a potential problem, anyway. They’re probably giving idle threats; what can they even do with the story? Also, send the photos over, I want to see them.”

“So if anyone asks, the official word from your representation is… what, ‘my client may or may not have been kissing someone in an alleyway the other night and it may or may not have been consensual’?" 

"Surely you can do better than that.”

“You do realize that it’s Christmas, right?”

Hakuba glanced at his watch. “You are up late, aren’t you?”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

“I’ll double your Christmas bonus, Jones. I’ll arrange a transfer the moment the banks are open again.” The detective fixed his suit, then slid onto the piano bench. “If the axe falls on my neck, I will take responsibility for it. Just leave Kuroba-kun out of it.”

“I can keep his name out, sure, but who knows if anyone recognized him. Someone definitely recognized you." 

"So what? I have photos taken of me every day.” A pause. “Or… so I assume… And NOT just because I’m a foreigner!”

“Right, yes, I know, you’re a talented, rich, handsome young detective, blah blah blah.”  Jones had to laugh. It was all true, sure; that’s why he’d taken Hakuba on as his client, but even so…

Hakuba carefully lifted the lid off of the keys and set the phone down, running fingers through his hair to fix it. “I’m going to start playing Nutcracker now.”

“What? Saguru, we’re not finished." 

"Can’t hear you, playing.”

Indeed, the sound of Tchaikovsky began, beginning with Waltz of the Flowers. 

“Saguru. You can’t just play the piano and expect the problem to go away.”

“I could get out my violin. I have it here, you know. It’s a beautiful instrument, too, though nothing compared to this…” His hands moved across the keyboard, teasing out every note with deliberate care.

“Please tell me that you’ve at least apologized to Kuroba-kun.”

“I… have.”

“Really?”

“Sort of.”

Jones pressed a palm to his face and groaned, sinking back into his office chair. “Explain.”

“I bought him a gift and left it on his doorstep.”

“That’s an apology?”

“It was very sweet! I went out right away and purchased that red scarf he wanted. Had it wrapped up and wrote ‘Happy Christmas’ on the tag, with ‘I’m Sorry’ on the back. That counts, doesn’t it?”

“GOD you’re hopeless!”

Hakuba frowned and the music stopped. “I thought it was nice.”

“And what about your burberry?”

“Ah… well… … … … … I assume he still has it if he hasn’t thrown it out or set it on fire by now.”

“Your self-confidence confuses me, Saguru. One minute, you’re touting that you’re so sweet and generous and what not, the next, you’re convinced that he’s murdered your scarf.”

Hakuba dropped his voice to a whisper. “Scarf-slaughter. Oh, the cashmere. Such a crime. It was so lovely, so young… it will be missed.”

“Unbelievable. How do you take yourself seriously?”

“I don’t." 

”…right.“

The detective began to play again, picking up right where he left off. "In any case, I’m dreadfully sorry for causing you so much work. I will double your bonus, and I promise to be more careful, and to speak to Kuroba-kun when I return to Japan. Or, perhaps I’ll send him an email.”

“Please don’t add ‘coward’ to your list of crimes, Saguru.”

“Ha. Ha. Happy Christmas, Jones.”

“Happy Christmas, Saguru. I guess that means we’re about wrapped up here.”

“Yes.” A pause. “But do send those photos my way, please.”

“You’re not going to ogle them, are you?”

“Heavens no! I’ll be burning them into my mind as a portrait of shame and punishment so that I shall never repeat the mistake again.”

So dramatic. Jones both loved and hated that about him. “I’ll send them once we’re off the phone.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

“Oh, and Saguru, one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“I find it ironic that you got into this mess because you don’t want to acknowledge that Christmas is a lover’s holiday here, and yet you ended up kissing your crush as a direct result…”

Hakuba’s fingers hit the wrong keys and for a moment, the music turned into some nightmarish horror before he could right it, which he did quickly. “Jones.”

“Yes?”

“Sod off. Go, enjoy the holiday. Get some sleep. I have a party to get ready for.”

“Fine, fine, Saguru. Have a good break.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“…and do be careful.”

“I always am.” A pause. “Except that once." 

smokebombsandmirrors:

He almost felt cherished. He pressed against him now in a fever. Wanting more almost needing it. Hakuba’s hands trailed over his body and he gave into the pleasure he was offering. He kissed him back desperately and suddenly almost as if a damn opened up on him. Moving his hands up he framed Hakuba’s jaw and part of his neck.

And during all  of this he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that HE DID NOT LIKE HIM.

God it was incredible. Hakuba felt himself melt against him, pressing closer, giving more. The breaths he took through his nose and his mouth in the brief moments of parting were ragged with wanting, heart pounding as he found himself tangling his fingers in his hair and–

December 24th, Last Year (“A Little Carried Away?”)

“Saguru.”

“…kissing the corner of his mouth and…”

“Saguru.”

“…fingers grasping, curling with desperation into my uniform, wishing that I could express what I…”

“Saguru.”

Hakuba paused. “Hm?”

“As much as I appreciate the gorey details of your scandalous affair, I really don’t think that you need to be giving a verbal essay about your feelings for this boy to your agent.”

The following silence was enough to tell Jones that his client had, once again, gotten ahead of himself and had been embarrassed into silence. But, again, it wouldn’t last.

“Aha… ha, yes. Quite right.”

“So you made out with him, and then?”

“And then… I left.”

“You left?”

“Yes. I left.”

The Previous Week (“Oh My God What Have I Done?”)

Reality hit with a sudden gasp as common sense finally lined back up with the detective’s senses. Hakuba recoiled from the passion, eyes wide and staring, face heated and flushed. What was he doing? Why was he kissing Kuroba Kaito? Oh god. Oh GOD. 

He took a step back, mouth hanging open as he took in the sight of him, shoving that desire and want as far down as it could possibly go until he felt the twist of sudden, horrible anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“A-ah…” Hakuba’s voice came out in an almost frightened squeak. He cleared his throat, then tried again, bowing as was customary – he thought??? he suddenly wasn’t sure – and took another step back and away. “Apologies. H-happy Christmas, Kuroba-kun.”

Hakuba bowed again, then stepped back, nearly losing traction before he moved into a brisk stride, leaving the area as quickly as he could without running, one hand held up to the side of his face. Fleeing the crime scene.

OH GOD! 

smokebombsandmirrors:

Kaito wanted so bad to push him back, to punch his lights out for forcing himself on him but it felt way too good and it had been so long since he was held by someone. As Hakuba’s hand trailed over his spine and side he arch towards him. He shivered as the soft press of his fingers brushed along his sensitive scars. He felt the detective shift and he shifted with him so they fit better. 

That was one thing he notice through the fog that they fit. He hadn’t been able to find something like this when he was active. That was months ago and he was getting exceedingly frustrated with himself and Hakuba was … everything he looked for, physically, in a partner but this was still Hakuba. ‘You’re Kaitou KID’ Hakuba.

Its all a mask isn’t it, Hakuba?

The realization that the detective was always wearing a mask brought forth more emotions than he wanted for the other. His hands stopped pushing, trembled then wrapped them selves in his lapel.

It was a mask. Everything was a lie. Everything but this, this stolen moment. This expression of feeling that he’d kept bottled up for so many months, out of fear, out of caution, out of feelings of inadequacy. Hakuba knew that Kaito would never return his feelings, but for that brief moment he could almost swear that he was kissing him back. Almost. 

He wanted it to be real. Something in him screamed with red warning flags waving furiously in his mind, but he kept kissing him anyway. Kissed him over, and over again, fighting for control of himself, of the situation, of his life. Each kiss was a little more desperate, a little more heated, a little more feverish, as if it would somehow tell Kaito exactly what was in his heart and in his mind. As if it would make things all right.

Hakuba’s hand moved between them, up and over his chest, over the scarf, back to his neck and then to his face, cupping his cheek. He so badly wanted to hold him, to love him, to protect him. But as those thoughts came through, it began to show in the way that he kissed, too. There was no loss of passion, but his hands held him carefully, his lips moved more fully, each caress meaning something that he couldn’t bring himself to say. 

smokebombsandmirrors:

“What the hell are you doing?! LET ME GO!” Kaito shouted and nearly dropped the bags in a desperate attempt to claw and bite at the hand on him.

He did not take to being man handled unless he wanted it and said when and certainly not in some dark alley way where no one can see you to help just in case. Not that he thought the detective would try anything, it was just a precaution that was wise to take. 

December 24th, Last Year (“I Can Explain!”)

“Thank god one of you had sense.”

“Well…!”

“You do realize what that looked like, right? You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

Hakuba frowned, folding his arm over his chest again while setting his mobile on the floor so that he could stretch his other arm. “As I said, he’s not the murdering type." 

"So, to recap, my six foot tall foreign, broad-shouldered, angry-looking, potentially racist and nationalistic client dragged a young, vulnerable, and defenseless Japanese kid into a dark alley…”

“You’re making it sound a lot worse than it is.”

“…to make out with them.”

“Uh.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“…Uh.”

“God help me, you’re such a disaster.”

“Please, Jones, let me finish!”

“If you can somehow turn this into a case of not dubious consent, I will fly out to London tonight and personally deliver a fruitbasket to your home for Christmas.”

“Uh. Well…”

The Previous Week (“In Retrospect, Not a Good Idea”)

That… that was not the attention that he wanted or needed. “Kuroba-kun!” He hissed, trying in vain to keep his cool. It wasn’t working.

Hakuba let go of Kaito, glanced back out to the crowd, which was largely obscured by the wall and the deep shadows, and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and embarrassed and still oh so intrigued.

But mostly, he was panicked. There were people out there. Paparazzi. Rabid fan girls. Stalkers. Friends of his father and co-workers and oh god if anyone from school… and Kuroba wasn’t keeping his god-damned poker face in tact and…

Before he even knew what was happening, Hakuba stepped right up against him and kissed him. Not the same sort of kiss from before – chaste and cute and teasing on the forehead – but a deep and passionate kiss right on the lips. One that didn’t stop. 

Somewhere, in those seconds, he shed the weight of the supply bags, leaving them in the snow in favor of grasping the other teen. One hand went for his shoulder, then to the back of his head, the other went for the scarf, pulling him closer, eyes closed as he kissed him. 

smokebombsandmirrors:

Kaito flinched at the sudden out burst and looked at the said tree. It was gaudy and way over the top but he was far to used to it by now to really care. As Hakuba continued to complain he felt his temper flare again. He couldn’t even find watching the detective’s mittens flying threw the sir and landing in the gutter funny like it normally would.  

“Okay, Now look here, its not wrong, its just different! You don’t see me going to your country and pointing out everything that is different or weird or not how YOUR used to! So would you stop degrading everything in Japan!”  He shouted and earned a few head turns and stares but he just ignored them and stood there feet planted, red faced, and panting. 

December 24th, Last Year (“Brief and Unnecessary Comments from the Agent”)

“You are so insensitive. It serves you right.”

“…anyway, regardless if the validity of your statement…” Hakuba continued.

Last Week (“A Case of Chronic ‘Foot In Mouth’ Disease”)

If the yelling hadn’t gotten Hakuba to stop in his tracks, words evaporating in his mouth like his breath in the cold air, the stares certainly did. The detective became all too aware that, yes, they had attracted attention, and now the both of them were possibly even redder than the god-awful ‘Christmas’ tree. 

But it wasn’t just the attention, either– those staring eyes, judging gazes, and critical whispers that Hakuba knew were circulating among the crowd. That he hated enough, yes, and felt the embarrassment spark every sense of panic and adrenaline response in him. And that made him notice something else. 

There was nothing more attractive to a rowdy bullshitting detective than to be called out on said bullshit. Kaito did this often. And here he was, standing in the snow with messier, wilder hair, red-faced and handsome and screaming at him for being such an ass and it was somehow just as glorious as it was terrifying. 

He hated it. He loved it. And Hakuba found himself nodding, bowing, and reaching to grab Kaito’s arm without any further delay to drag him, bodily, toward the closest, darkest alleyway. 

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m so sorry, please accept my apologies, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just got caught up in the moment, and god, you’re so right…”

December 24th, Last Year (“Skepticism At Work”)

“…did you really apologize or are you just saying that to make yourself look better?”

“No!” Hakuba said, sitting up just a bit too fast, very narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the piano. “I really did say all of those things! I panicked! And he was right! I never disputed that!”

“So how do you get by, admitting that you’re a hypocrite, but not… changing, exactly?”

The detective sighed, flopping right back over again onto his back. “My life is a very difficult and complicated one, Jones…" 

If only Hakuba could see the deadpan expression on his agent’s face at that moment…  

"What did Kuroba think about being dragged into the dark alleyway by the foreign blond who looks like a predatory college student?”

“Ah, well…" 

smokebombsandmirrors:

He tried to shy away from the touch, from the warmth but couldn’t find the strength in his legs. Out of all the places he could have touch, it had to be the back of his neck. Wait …WAIT. Never mind any place Hakuba Saguru shouldn’t be touching him at all. He bow his head away from the other’s gaze in a failed attempt to hide his red cheeks and ears.

“Shut the hell up, Hakuba,” It was supposed to come out as a threat. He intended it to come out that way. Instead it sounded like a breathy whine and Kaito was kicking himself in the head for it.

“Yes, yes, right, right,” came Hakuba’s flippant reply. Once he made sure that he’d thoroughly rubbed Kaito’s cheeks, then ears, he adjusted Kaito’s collar, then retied the scarf as if nothing were wrong. “There." 

And then he did something that even he didn’t expect, leaning in to place the smallest of kisses on Kaito’s forehead.

Blinking, he pulled back, glanced around, and then stepped once to the side, then over to where he’d set the school bags down without further comment, picking them up out of the snow, eyes wide, expression frozen in rabbit-panic.  

He gave a cough. "Ahem. L-let’s go.”

smokebombsandmirrors:

“Fuck you.” He hissed again.

He glared up at the other frustrated with the whole day. Kaito couldn’t look up at him when the finger dug at the snow. When Hakuba hit a sensitive spot on his neck his shivered violently and blushed. He froze too scared to jump back and hit ice and too … he whimpered. This real wasn’t his day.

“Oh come now.” Hakuba took a moment to take his mittens off with his teeth, setting the bags down so that he could better help with the wet and the cold. “Just hold still, let me help." 

He untied the scarf and pulled it off to shake it out, then draped it over Kaito’s shoulder to run bare fingers through his damp hair–

December 24th, Last Year ("Jones Interrupting in the Present”)

“Is this where you get to the making out?”

Hakuba blinked. “Pardon?”

Jones sighed with all of the patience that his years as an agent had granted him. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your ability to spin a yarn, Saguru, but… the point of this story?”

“I’m getting to that!”

“So far, you’re just making yourself sound just as much the ass as they say.”

“Who says that?!”

There was a pause as Jones considered whether ‘everyone’ was an acceptable answer to give his client or not. “Let’s just say that not everyone has fallen for your boyish charm and good looks.”

“Hmf.”

“Go on.”

“So there I was, getting the snow out of my classmate’s hair, as, honestly, that’s the only way to avoid the chill really setting in, because once the dampness–”

“…yes. I know. So you were fondling Kuroba’s hair.”

“Not fondling…”

“I was promised a good makeout story, Saguru. I’m dying here.”

“I’m…! What?!”

“I’m listening." 

The detective waited for a moment, wondering if he should even bother to continue with the impatient man… but ultimately, the story was far too good to keep to himself. Especially since he’d already put so much work into it. He went back to tracing the drawings on the underside of the piano idly. "My hands were warm from the mittens, so I ultimately put them around his neck for a moment to warm him up…”

Back To One Week Earlier (“Where Hakuba Is NOT Fondling Kuroba’s Hair OR Neck”)

Palms flat against Kaito’s neck, Hakuba tilted his head to look him over, still far too amused at the whole situation to stop snickering. He turned his hands over to press the backs of them, next, then drew them up to Kaito’s red cheeks. 

“You’re almost as rosy as I am. It’s cute."